


Take Me Apart

by unbecomings



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Pre-game rituals, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbecomings/pseuds/unbecomings
Summary: Lindsey learns how to help Emily with her pre-game ritual when she's nervous.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 11
Kudos: 145





	Take Me Apart

Emily is nervous.

Lindsey can always tell. It’s taken a few years, but now she knows instantly, the moment they see each other, when Emily is nervous and when she’s not. It’s a combination of things that tips her off, and she’s not completely sure until Emily slides in next to her on the bus to morning practice. She’s too quiet. She looks too small in her pullover when she’s not talking or joking, and Lindsey feels like she can help, or at least like she should try.

“Son,” Lindsey says, “pick my playlist.”

She hands her phone over, and when Emily takes it Lindsey can see her hand is shaking.

She wants to help. They’ll have about forty minutes of light jogging and checking out the pitch and then they’ll go back to the hotel and everyone will prep for the game. If Emily’s this nervous now, in the morning, Lindsey can’t even imagine how Emily’s going to feel by the time they get to the field for the game.

That’s how she ends up bugging Hayley into telling her where Emily is when she and the Aussies meet up in the lobby, planning on walking to get coffee.

“She’s taking a nap,” Hayley says.

“Sonny doesn’t nap,” Lindsey says, and Hayley shrugs.

“She said she was,” Hayley says, “she looks tired, I believe her.”

“I’m gonna check on her,” Lindsey says, “gimme your card.”

It’s not a question, and Hayley doesn’t treat it like one. She hands her key card to Lindsey and Lindsey leaves them without thinking twice about it, slipping back up to the fifth floor and hesitating only briefly outside room 505.

She doesn’t knock. In hindsight it was so, so stupid not to knock. But Emily might have been asleep and Lindsey didn’t want to wake her up, and Hayley could also have been the one walking in at any second. But she wasn’t. It was Lindsey who opened the door, quietly in case Emily was actually napping, to find—

Well, it takes Lindsey a second to understand what’s happening. 

Emily is flat on her back on top of her bed. She’s still wearing her socks and her shirt and underwear but no pants. Her head is pressed back into a pillow and her mouth is open, first in something else and then in surprise. Her hand is between her legs and she’s bright pink, a shade that Lindsey knows matches her own face. 

“Oh, fuck,” Lindsey says, as the door falls shut behind her, “fuck, Sonny, sorry.”

Emily jerks her hand back up out of her underwear and leaps off of the bed, almost falling over in the process. She looks so guilty, and somehow that’s the worst part to Lindsey. The idea that Emily--who wasn’t doing anything wrong and got walked in on because Lindsey was stupid--feels _guilty_ makes her feel sick.

“I can go,” Lindsey says, “I’m gonna go, I’m sorry, I just was worried and wanted to check on you but I should’ve knocked.”

“No,” Emily says, “it’s fine just--don’t--I’m gonna...go into the bathroom for a sec and when I come back out we can just pretend I was sleeping. It’s fine. We’re adults, right?”

It’s like she’s waiting for an answer. Stunned, Lindsey can do nothing other than nod. Emily is still bright pink when she disappears into the bathroom, grabbing a pair of sweatpants on her way in. Lindsey gets an eyeful of the backs of Emily’s legs and for some reason that’s where her mind stays while she perches on the edge of the bed and waits. She can hear Emily running water in the bathroom and she knows she’s looking down at her own hands, but all she can see is Emily’s pale legs, the blush rising in her cheeks.

But they’re adults. And she does still need to check on Emily. Maybe more now than before.

When Emily reappears, she’s not blushing anymore. She’s buried what happened deeply enough that she doesn’t look too terribly embarrassed anymore--and now Lindsey feels like she must be more embarrassed than Emily is, even though she has no reason to be, not really. Emily sits on the bed with her, a few inches from Lindsey, and places her hands in her lap.

“Sorry,” Lindsey says, “seriously, I’m really sorry, I was just worried, you seemed really nervous earlier and it wasn’t like you to disappear.”

“Stop apologizing,” Emily says, “it’s okay, I--I really appreciate that you were worried.”

“Are,” Lindsey corrects her, and Emily’s mouth twitches up into a half smile.

“Alright,” Emily says, “so, yeah. I’m nervous. Jill’s gonna be at the game. The World Cup roster comes out soon. I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m not on it. I can’t stop thinking about it and I couldn’t sleep very well because my brain was going a mile a minute. And sometimes when I’m antsy and nervous like that I...you know.”

Lindsey knows. She can’t stop thinking about it. She’s not sure if she will ever stop thinking about it. It’s not something she does regularly, and she has a vibrator that takes only a few minutes so she doesn’t have to really think about it, but Emily was just using her hand. Lindsey wonders what Emily was thinking about. She blushes again and scratches the back of her neck.

“Does it help?” she blurts, and Emily blinks at her. When she registers the question she blushes too, but it’s subtle, and Lindsey’s impressed. 

“Yeah,” Emily says, “usually, but I don’t think I can now. It’s not your fault though, don’t feel bad.”

“I want to help,” Lindsey says. She’s possessed, thinking about Emily’s legs, thinking about the roster coming and panicking about the prospect of going to France without Emily. Now Emily’s blush has deepened, and she’s fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt, unable to meet Lindsey’s gaze. If she says no Lindsey will play it off like a bad joke and try to forget. If not—well, she does want to help. She feels bad for ruining Emily’s routine and she wants nothing more than for Emily to feel better. She’ll do anything. 

“You—?” 

Lindsey nods.

“We’re adults,” she says, parroting Emily from earlier, “right? So if you need help and I can help you, I want to do it. It doesn’t have to be weird.”

The only thing that’s weird about it is how intensely _un_weird it is. When Emily lays back against the bed and closes her eyes, Lindsey’s heart leaps into her throat. She twists around so that her body is facing Emily’s while she stays seated on the edge of the bed, and rests her hand next to Emily’s ribs, unsure where to start. Eventually Emily reaches for Lindsey’s hand and places it on her stomach, and Lindsey feels the kick in her heart rate, the way her mouth goes dry. 

“Are you sure this isn’t weird?” Emily asks, “I can try again by myself.”

“Is it weird for you?” Lindsey asks, slipping her thumb under the hem of Emily’s shirt to brush against her stomach. She can feel her own heartbeat between her legs. It’s not that she’d never thought about Emily before—she’d thought about kissing Emily before, but not as if it would actually _happen_—but she’d never considered she might touch Emily this way. She’s not confident that she knows what to do, but she knows she wants to try. Emily’s her best friend, her best friend needs help, and Lindsey has known for years that she’d do anything for Emily. It’s not sexual. Not really. Only in the strictest sense. 

“I just need to get off,” Emily says, “I’m not thinking about it hard enough for it to be weird.”

“Cool,” Lindsey says. She places her palm flat on Emily’s abs and waits until Emily relaxes under her touch. When she does, Lindsey slides her hand lower, beneath Emily’s sweatpants. She glances at Emily’s face and Emily’s eyes are still closed. She furrows her brows when Lindsey touches her over her underwear, like she’s concentrating on the way it feels, and Lindsey has to bite her lip to keep quiet. She doesn’t know what she would say, but she knows she wants to say something. 

She touches Emily over her underwear for probably a minute or two, until she gets used to it and she can feel the warmth against her fingers, through cotton. It’s not really much different from touching herself, except that Emily is smaller, and Lindsey wants so badly for it to go well. 

She slides her hand under Emily’s underwear and all the breath leaves her lungs. Emily is hot and wet and so soft, and so quiet that Lindsey has to check Emily’s face again to make sure she hasn’t done something wrong. She can tell from Emily’s blush and parted lips that she’s doing okay. When she brushes the tip of her finger across Emily’s clit, Emily bites her lips and props her feet up on the bed, giving Lindsey more room to touch. Lindsey repeats the movement, increasing the pressure, and she doesn’t stop until Emily is shaking. 

She doesn’t even put her fingers inside Emily. She doesn’t have to. She’s not entirely sure that Emily has gotten off until Emily reaches for Lindsey’s wrist, tugging her hand away gently. Her legs are still shaking when she drops them back to the bed.

“Okay?” Lindsey asks. Her voice sounds like it’s coming from a hundred miles away. 

“Yep,” Emily says, “great, thank you.”

“I’m gonna catch up with the Aussies,” Lindsey says.

“I think I might stay here,” Emily says, “I really don’t need the caffeine and I should probably, um...shower.”

Lindsey’s hand is sticky. It feels dirty now, in hindsight, in a way it didn’t when she was touching Emily before. It feels too real.

“Mind if I wash my hands first?” she croaks, and Emily opens one eye and grins, and Lindsey knows immediately that they’re going to be okay.

“Be kinda rude if I did mind,” Emily jokes. Lindsey rolls her eyes. Her legs are wobbly when she goes to leave, but by the time she gets to the coffee shop it all feels like a dream. 

-

Emily makes the roster. 

They don’t talk about it. Well, they talk about the roster, but they don’t talk about what it means that Emily made it, or what they did before the game in Chicago. And, oddly, everything is pretty much fine. If Lindsey occasionally daydreams about it, wonders what it would be like to do it again and touch more of Emily, it’s only when she’s half asleep and can write it off as something meaningless.

And then before she knows it they’re in France and she’s not thinking about it at all. She’s too tired to think about it. When she scores against Thailand somehow she zeroes in on Sonny after the hugs subside, and the flushed smile on her face transports Lindsey back to the hotel room in Chicago, just for a second.

She plays less and less as the tournament progresses. There’s not really anyone to talk to about it and she’s afraid talking about it will make her feel worse anyway, but she seeks out Sonny’s company regardless. She doesn’t want to bring it up because it’s not like Emily’s playing, either. And—even in her darkest moments—Lindsey knows she still has a better shot at playing the rest of the way through. Something about just spending time in a room with Sonny makes her feel better, even if they’re not talking about anything of substance. And usually they’re not. And usually Lindsey isn’t thinking about touching her, especially not in a non-platonic way, but the night before the semifinal they’re watching tape on England and things go a little sideways. 

Emily is sitting on the floor. Lindsey is sitting in a chair behind her, and Emily wriggles to sit between Lindsey’s legs, leaning back against the chair, her shoulders trapped between Lindsey’s knees. She doesn’t react at all to the sudden contact. There are a lot of them in one room and the skin of Emily’s shoulders and upper arms is warm against the skin of Lindsey’s knees. 

Lindsey thinks about reaching down and taking Emily’s hair out of her hair tie. She thinks about running her hands through Emily’s hair and tugging her head back and leaning down to slot their lips together. It’s such a vivid and sudden image that she’s startled, not just because of what it is but because she didn’t ask for it, it conjured itself up out of thin air, and now she can’t stop thinking about kissing Emily instead of the tape. 

She doesn’t even want to kiss Emily. She has no idea where that daydream came from. And when did she start thinking of her as _Emily_?

Jill pulls her aside afterwards. Sonny hesitates, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Lindsey is okay. Lindsey’s still thinking about that when Jill squeezes her upper arm.

“You’re starting tomorrow,” Jill says, “get some good rest.”

Of course now Lindsey knows she won’t be able to sleep at all.

She would be able to hide it from anyone other than Emily or Rose, and of course Emily is her roommate. Separating them just seemed stupid to the staff, she’s sure--they always end up in each other’s rooms anyway, and someone always gets in trouble for not being back in their own room on time to go to sleep. For lesser tournaments they get separated all the time, but for this one...they got lucky. Or maybe luck isn’t the right word.

It doesn’t feel like luck when Lindsey steps into the hallway and Emily is still there, waiting for her.

“Oh,” Lindsey says, “hey.”

“Hey,” Emily says, “you good?”

“Yeah,” Lindsey says. She waits until they’re back in their room before she leans against the door and takes a deep breath. Emily’s watching her like a hawk, hesitating between her bed and the bathroom.

“I’m starting tomorrow,” Lindsey says, “Jill told me.”

“Oh shit,” Emily says, her face splitting into a grin, “dude, fuck yeah! In the World Cup semifinal!”

“Yeah,” Lindsey says, but she doesn’t feel the excitement that’s on Emily’s face, and she’s surprised when Emily hugs her, suddenly and fiercely. Still, she hugs Emily back, closing her eyes and turning her head to bury her face in Emily’s hair. 

She can’t remember if that’s something she always would have done, but it feels right now. It feels right even when she inhales and gets a whiff of Emily’s shampoo.

“You’re going to be great,” Emily says. 

“Thank you,” Lindsey says, “I’m going to try.”

-

She can’t sleep.

It’s not a surprise. She can always nap before the game, but she’s too restless to sleep, and she can only flip herself over so many times before she gives up. She’s not sure what to do, so she gets in the shower, trying to be as quiet as possible, just to give herself something to do. She shaves her legs. She shaves her armpits. She scrubs every inch of herself and spends 5 minutes in front of the mirror afterwards plucking stray hairs around her eyebrows and her chin. 

When she’s run out of things to do she turns off the light and opens the door carefully, but Emily’s lamp is already on. She’s sitting there, propped up against the headboard. Her messy bun is even messier than usual and Lindsey feels so guilty that she wants to cry.

“Can’t sleep?” Emily asks. Her voice is hoarse from sleep and it makes Lindsey’s stomach flip. 

“Fuck,” Lindsey says, “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No,” Emily says, “I can’t sleep either.”

She’s so clearly lying, but Lindsey doesn’t want to call her on it. She goes back to her bed and crawls under the covers, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. Within seconds she’s restless again, enough to have to kick her feet into a different position.

“If you’re nervous, too, we can--I mean, last time…” 

Lindsey opens her eyes and turns her head to see that Emily has turned bright pink and is wringing her hands in her blanket. Something tells Lindsey that if she laughs now Emily will pretend it was a joke, but she doesn’t _want_ it to be a joke. 

“Isn’t that your thing?” she asks, and Emily shrugs.

“Maybe I’m nervous too,” she says.

Lindsey throws her blankets off. She crosses the space between their beds in seconds, and as she does it Emily scrambles to get above her own covers. She’s still bright red, and Lindsey leaves the light on because she wants to see. She can’t make eye contact, though, or she’ll lose her nerve. She swings herself onto the bed, straddling Emily’s hips, and places her hands on Emily’s stomach.

“Do you,” Lindsey starts, then takes a deep breath.

“Last time you had like,” she says, “you know, you’d like, already...started, so…”

“It doesn’t take a lot,” Emily says. If possible, her face gets redder. 

Lindsey sits back on her heels. She places her hands on her own thighs and lifts her eyes to Emily’s face. Emily takes the hint and lifts her own hand to push it under her shirt. Lindsey has no idea what to do with herself, so she just watches Emily’s hand under her shirt and imagines the way Emily must be touching herself. She wishes she could see it, but this is about Emily, not about her and what she wants to see. 

Emily’s eyes have fluttered closed and she’s chewing her lip. When she goes to switch sides, Lindsey finds she can’t help herself.

“I can do it if you want,” she blurts, “I want to help. It’ll help me if I--I need to be doing something.”

Emily nods, but she doesn’t open her eyes. Lindsey backpedals, feeling the heat rise in her own face.

“Only if you want,” Lindsey says.

“I want,” Emily confirms. She opens her eyes briefly so that she can reach for Lindsey’s wrist, and then she closes them again when she guides Lindsey’s hand under her shirt. Lindsey watches Emily’s face because she can’t see what her hand is doing. When she brushes her palm over Emily’s nipple, Emily’s brows furrow. Emily’s mouth falls open when Lindsey pinches her nipple between her fingers and it makes Lindsey’s stomach swoop. She feels better instantly, all her restless energy now aimed at making Emily feel good.

She trails her fingertips along the underside of Emily’s breast, then circles her nipple again. Underneath her, Emily takes a deep breath and arches her back off of the bed just a little bit, and Lindsey caves in and pinches Emily’s nipple again. Emily lets her for a few seconds before she reaches down and pushes at Lindsey’s hips. Lindsey clambers off of her and Emily pushes her shorts down over her own hips.

Lindsey glances at the clock. It’s two in the morning, so she must have dozed off at some point before she got up to shower. It doesn’t feel like any of that is real, and it definitely doesn’t feel like they’re supposed to play a game tomorrow. The only thing that feels real to her is Emily.

Emily, who clears her throat once her shorts have been kicked away, drawing Lindsey’s attention again.

She wasn’t wearing anything underneath them. 

Lindsey climbs back over to kneel between Emily’s knees. She places her hands on Emily’s thighs, sliding them from just above Emily’s knees all the way up to the tops of her thighs. When she lets her thumbs brush against Emily’s inner thighs, Emily bites her lip again.

Lindsey doesn’t want to make her wait. She also feels like if she waits another second Emily will change her mind, or things will start to feel weird. So she doesn’t wait. She rests on hand on Emily’s thigh and brings the other hand between Emily’s legs. She’s a little bit surprised at how wet Emily is already, but she also knows how turned on _she_ is, so it’s not like she has a leg to stand on.

“Will you tell me if it’s not--if whatever I’m doing isn’t working?” Lindsey asks.

“Yep,” Emily breathes. Her voice is so fucked up now, and it’s more than it was when she was just half asleep. 

Lindsey uses her thumb the way she had before, the first time they did this. She really hasn’t stopped thinking about it since, thinking about what else she wanted to do, what else might feel good for Emily. This time, instead of just thinking about it, she turns her hand over, angling her hand so that she can tease Emily with the tip of her finger. She just wants to see what will happen, but it ends up being more than she bargained for. Emily makes a soft, desperate sound and clutches the sheet under her hands. Lindsey can’t make her wait, not after that. Emily bites her lip again when Lindsey slides a finger inside, but she’s quiet, concentrating, her eyes tightly closed. 

Lindsey is concentrating, too. She’s never used her fingers like this on herself, and the feeling is different but still somehow so familiar. She has no idea what she’s doing but she does, actually. Or she must, because Emily is making these sounds that drive Lindsey crazy, that make her want to keep going like this for hours. She slides her other hand across Emily’s stomach, then down, until it joins her other hand between Emily’s legs. She only has to make one small, tight circle with her thumb against Emily’s clit before Emily is coming. This time Lindsey can feel it, just as much as she can see it, in the way Emily’s abs flex and she tosses her head to one side and gasps. She doesn’t take her hand back until Emily stops shaking, and even when she does she takes a moment just to sit there, absorbing what she’s just been able to do. Emily looks wrecked, her lips swollen from biting them, her hair no longer in anything resembling a bun. 

When Emily finally opens her eyes and sits up, Lindsey hastily finds her shorts and hands them over. 

“Did that help?” Emily asks. Her voice is a little bit shaky. 

“Yeah,” Lindsey says, “I’m good.”

The restlessness isn’t quite gone, just replaced by the ache between her own legs.

“My turn to shower, I think,” Emily jokes. She doesn’t put her shorts back on, just slides out of her bed and disappears into the bathroom without another word. Lindsey takes a deep breath and goes back to her own bed.

She stares at the ceiling until she hears the shower start. When it does, she slides her hand underneath the blanket and into her sleep pants. She’s not thinking about how her hands were just all over Emily when she comes, maybe a minute or two later, with her face turned into her pillow. She _might_ have been imagining Emily in the shower, the water sliding over her shoulders and along her spine. But it’s almost three in the morning and none of this will be real tomorrow, and she needs to sleep. 

She doesn’t have time to feel guilty before she’s asleep. 

-

Winning the World Cup changes everything and nothing. It changes everything about her life but it changes nothing about Emily, about how she feels about Emily, about the way that she thinks about Emily’s just-fucked voice at the worst possible times. In the middle of an interview her exhausted brain supplies her with the image of her fingers disappearing between Emily’s legs and she chokes on her own tongue. On the red carpet at the ESPYs she stares a little too long at the slope of Emily’s shoulders in her pantsuit and has to overcompensate by carefully avoiding looking at Emily for the rest of the night. 

They don’t talk about it. 

-

Lindsey has a bad feeling about the semifinal.

Part of it is just that she hasn’t been able to score for shit lately. She’s always obsessively tracked her own performance, and she knows that the last time she made a play that mattered it was almost a month ago, against Houston. She’s not creating anything. She’s not the only one--nobody on the team has scored since that game--but it doesn’t really matter what’s happening around her. They brought her to the States to score goals, and she’s not doing it.

Part of it is something else, though. Something just doesn’t feel right. She’s exhausted. She doesn’t really remember what an offseason feels like. She’s terrified of getting hurt and sometimes when she’s running if she feels a twinge in her knee or her hamstring or her quad she gets so distracted by the prospect of injury that she can’t focus for minutes at a time. She knows she’s burnt out, and she knows she’s not the only one.

The first time she helped Emily get off before a game it was here, in Chicago, months ago. Seven months ago, not that she’s counting. This time, the morning of the game, Lindsey feels as bad as Emily looks. She’s tired, but not the kind of tired that a night of sleep will fix. She needs to sleep for a week. She needs a large iced coffee with too much cream and sugar in it. She needs things she doesn’t know how to articulate, things she’s afraid to even think about.

Emily doesn’t ask if she’s okay, and Lindsey doesn’t ask, either. She thinks they both know that they’re not, and that it’ll just have to be okay. They’ll play through it, just like they’ve played through everything else. 

On the way back from the stadium after their quick morning workout, Emily starts to bounce her leg up and down. She’s next to the window, watching the landscape pass, obviously far away. Lindsey doesn’t think twice before she places her hand on Emily’s knee.

Emily’s leg stops bouncing. She turns her head to make eye contact with Lindsey, who offers her what she can only hope is a reassuring smile. Emily reaches down for Lindsey’s hand, and at first Lindsey thinks she’s going to get pushed away, but instead Emily pushes Lindsey’s hand further up her leg, along her thigh, until Lindsey’s pinkie slides just barely under the leg of Emily’s shorts.

She doesn’t say anything. She just looks up and gives Lindsey an innocent little half-smile before she goes back to looking out the window. Lindsey leaves her hand on Emily’s thigh for almost two full minutes before she moves. At first she just widens the spread of her fingers to take up as much of Emily’s skin as possible. When Emily’s shoulders straighten, Lindsey lets herself imagine what it might be like to find a way to touch Emily here, like this, surrounded by teammates. She’s so embarrassed at herself that she ends up taking her hand back, and she can tell that Emily is disappointed, even though she doesn’t turn her head again.

-

Emily doesn’t join them for coffee. She says something about needing an extra recovery session with Norma. Lindsey lies and says she needs to take a call from her agent, and for a moment she wonders whether their friends suspect anything. The idea of that would have filled her with dread a month ago, but now it doesn’t bother her at all. Let them speculate. It’s not like they’re going to say anything. 

Emily is the one to knock on her door. Lindsey rolls out of bed and lets her in, and her body responds instantly just to the idea of touching Emily. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d get my hints,” Emily says. 

“I’m not dumb,” Lindsey replies, and Emily turns faintly pink. 

“I’m nervous,” Emily admits, “like more nervous than I was for the World Cup final, I guess because I knew I wasn’t going to play.”

“You could have,” Lindsey says, but she feels like it’s the wrong thing to say. Emily’s expression changes, shuts down, and she shrugs. 

“I didn’t,” she says simply, “but I will today. And I don’t want to fuck up. But it feels like—like it’s just waiting right under the surface.”

“It’s not,” Lindsey says. When Emily doesn’t look at her, she says it again, reaching for Emily’s shoulders: “it’s not.”

Emily finally makes eye contact with her and Lindsey very nearly kisses her. She’s afraid that if she does Emily will panic and leave, so she doesn’t. Instead she maneuvers so that Emily has her back to Lindsey’s bed. 

“Lay down,” Lindsey instructs, and Emily blushes hard. 

It’s cute. But it’s more than that. When Emily blushes and scrambles back onto Lindsey’s bed without hesitation, toeing off her sandals, it does something, flips a switch somewhere in Lindsey’s brain. It makes her brave. And it turns her on. 

“I’m already kind of,” Emily waves her hand, trailing off. Lindsey takes off her shirt, though in hindsight she’s not sure why. It just feels like the right thing to do, and she has to do _something_ before she joins Emily on the bed. 

“Been thinking about it?” Lindsey asks. She doesn’t even realize how flirtatious it comes out until Emily quirks an eyebrow at her. It had been a genuine question.

“Maybe,” Emily admits, “it’s better than thinking about the game, so…”

Lindsey wants to hear more. She wants to hear that Emily was thinking about _her_, but she doesn’t want to ask any more questions. She kneels on the bed, between Emily’s legs, and hovers over her. She slides her hand under Emily’s shirt and thumbs Emily’s nipple over her sports bra. 

“Why are you wearing this,” Lindsey mumbles. She pinches a little harder and Emily inhales sharply, her thighs bumping against Lindsey’s hips. 

“Game-ready,” Emily gasps. Lindsey is just thinking about how badly she wants to touch more of Emily before Emily pushes her away and sits up, pulling her t-shirt over her head as if to make up for the sports bra beneath it. Lindsey places her hand on Emily’s sternum and pushes gently until Emily is lying back again. Lindsey doesn’t think twice before she leans down further, brushing her lips across Emily’s skin just above the top of her sports bra. She doesn’t think until Emily holds her breath and then she realizes what she’s doing, how tender that was, and changes course. 

She bites Emily’s nipple gently through her sports bra and pushes her hand down the front of Emily’s shorts at the same time. Emily groans and her hands fall to Lindsey’s bare shoulders, and Lindsey, encouraged by the reaction, switches sides to mouth against Emily’s other nipple. It’s hard to focus on two things at once, so eventually she has to sit back in order to get her hand into Emily’s underwear. When she does, they’re both holding their breaths. 

Emily is so wet. Lindsey almost says something but she catches herself and bites her lips. She uses her fingertips first, her index and middle fingertips in small, careful circles. Emily bends her knees, resting her feet on the bed, and pushes her hips up until Lindsey’s fingertips slip just inside her. 

“Fuck,” Emily mumbles, and Lindsey has to agree. She reaches down with her other hand to pull Emily’s shorts off but she can’t quite get them, so they hang half off of Emily’s hip as Emily squirms under her. The angle still isn’t good enough for her to really give Emily her fingers, so Emily rocks her hips up for friction that Lindsey can’t give her.

“Your shorts,” Lindsey says. Emily doesn’t speak so Lindsey tries again with her free hand, and Emily lifts her hips to help. When Lindsey finally gets the angle she wants she watches Emily’s face as Emily takes two fingers with no trouble, and her stomach flips and flips again, and her heart is in her throat. 

She’s still not really sure what she’s doing. She’s only had this done for her a handful of times and only come this way once, but she vividly remembers what it was that worked. She’s just not sure she can pull it off, but for Emily she’ll try. She got it last time, but this feels different, a different angle and two fingers instead of one and a look of desperation on Emily’s face that wasn’t there before. Her eyes are closed tightly and Lindsey can so clearly see the way Emily’s chest rises and falls with her breath. 

She curls her fingers just a little bit once she’s found a rhythm and Emily groans, clutching at the bedspread, her hips bucking off the mattress. Overwhelmed, Lindsey can only repeat the motion, and she instantly feels Emily tighten around her. It must mean she’s doing something right. That’s the only thought in her head when she leans forward, resting on her elbow so that their upper bodies are pressed together, and picks up the pace. 

“Lindsey,” Emily moans, and she’s too far gone to realize but Lindsey isn’t. It feels like something popped, like all the air is being let out, like Lindsey can breathe and move and do whatever she wants. Right now she wants to kiss Emily, so she does. Their lips crash together and it takes them a few seconds but Lindsey kisses Emily and Emily kisses back, clamping her shaking thighs against Lindsey’s hips. Lindsey tries to keep the kiss up but Emily can’t do it, she keeps turning her head to breathe and then turning her head again to kiss Lindsey and it’s a mess but it’s also the best kiss of Lindsey’s life. 

She doesn’t think about what it means. Even when Emily drops her head, resting her cheek against the bed, and Lindsey pulls back, it doesn’t even occur to her to worry about what the kiss means. It, like everything else, feels temporary. None of the things they do like this feel real later on in the day, and especially not on the field. 

But this time something does linger. This time she spends the whole first half, in any idle moment, remembering the hoarseness of Emily’s voice when she said Lindsey’s name, with Lindsey’s fingers inside her, on Lindsey’s bed. 

It’s not the reason they lose. It’s not the reason she fails to score. But it is real, and it sticks with her, and it makes her think in a way that getting Emily off before games never had before. Or, at least, it’s impossible enough to ignore that she can’t keep pretending what they’re doing doesn’t have some sort of impact. 

Losing the game replaces that memory with others. The glimmer of tears in Emily’s eyes postgame. The disappointment that makes Lindsey’s chest feels tight. Disappointment in herself and her season, and in the play of her teammates that she couldn’t quite seem to connect with. Envy of the Red Stars and their celebration and the opportunity to play one more game with all their friends.

It’s not that she forgets. It’s just that it starts to feel more and more stupid to bring it up when there are more important things to worry about.

-

It’s a new era. Lindsey can feel it and she knows she’s not the only one. She was nervous to lose Jill, even though she was frustrated by Jill constantly and never felt good enough for the vision Jill had of where the team was going. Jill, at least, was a known quantity. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Vlatko. She likes Vlatko a lot. He takes the time to speak to her one on one and he makes her feel like he’s really interested in where she’s going, what she’s capable of, in a way that she’s not sure she’s ever felt on the national team before. It’s just that everything feels so new.

Lindsey isn’t afraid of Panama. She doesn’t know anyone who is. They’re taking it seriously, but she feels good about the way the team is preparing, about how she’s been playing. What she’s nervous about is whether or not she’ll start. It’s all she wants. She wants the option, the shot at proving to Vlatko that she can handle it. And she’s afraid that he, like Jill, won’t even give her a real chance.

She knows Sonny’s worried about the same thing. She knows even before they make eye contact over breakfast and Emily’s eyes dip to her lips. 

They probably should have had a conversation about it by now. About their sometimes-pregame ritual and what it means. Lindsey doesn’t know much, but she does know that she feels safe with Emily in a way she doesn’t with anyone else. That taking care of Emily feels like taking care of herself, too. She doesn’t know what it means, beyond that she wants to keep doing it.

Sam is Emily’s roommate. When she shows up at Lindsey’s room to braid Mal’s hair, Lindsey slips out, and before she can second-guess she’s knocking on Emily’s door. Emily doesn’t look surprised when she opens it. She lets Lindsey in, but something in her expression makes Lindsey hesitate to reach for her. 

“Hey,” she says hesitantly, and Emily smiles at her, closing the door behind herself. 

“Hi,” she says, “you nervous?”

“Hi,” Lindsey says, “yeah, kinda. Are you?”

Emily hesitates. She looks at Lindsey for so long that Lindse gets uneasy, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The thing is, they both know the answer is yes. Emily hesitating means she’s going to say more, and Lindsey is afraid she’s not ready to hear it. 

“Can we do something different?” Emily asks. 

“We can do whatever you want,” Lindsey blurts. She doesn’t realize how earnest it sounds until it’s out of her mouth, and then she blushes hard. She can’t deflect and she realizes she doesn’t really want to. She meant it. And she wants Emily to know that she meant it. 

Emily reaches for Lindsey’s hand and pulls her towards one of the beds. Lindsey follows her down, bracing herself with both hands on either side of Emily’s shoulders, but kneeling next to Emily’s hip. Emily isn’t satisfied; she pulls Lindsey down until they’re both lying on their sides, facing each other, and exhales against Lindsey’s lips.

Lindsey has kissed Emily already. Lindsey has had her fingers _inside_ Emily. She thinks about it constantly. But somehow this is more intimate--the most intimate she’s ever been with anyone, she thinks.

“You kissed me,” Emily says, “last time.”

Lindsey feels a spike of fear. Emily’s not touching her. They’re so close together--but not touching, and it’s driving her crazy.

“You said my name,” she replies defensively, and Emily’s eyes drop to Lindsey’s lips before they flicker up to Lindsey’s face again.

“Is that why you kissed me?” Emily asks, and now Lindsey can hear that she’s being teased, she can see it in the way that Emily smirks, and the heat in her face travels between her legs instantly. Nobody has ever made her feel like this by doing nothing at all. She still can’t wrap her mind around it.

“Linds,” Emily says, hooking her leg over Lindsey’s hip, “is that why you kissed me?”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Lindsey admits, “I wanted to before, but it didn’t seem like--it didn’t seem like that’s what we were doing.”

“What we were doing,” Emily repeats. She reaches out and trails her fingertip along the dip of Lindsey’s tank top. “What did you think we were doing?”

“Why do you get to ask all the questions?” Lindsey asks. She reaches up to grab Emily’s hand, and Emily brings her eyes back up to meet Lindsey’s gaze. Emily’s almost always smiling. It makes Lindsey realize that here, like this, with Emily _not_ smiling, is the first time she’s gotten a good look at the color of Emily’s eyes, a color she doesn’t know how to name.

“Why did you say my name?” Lindsey asks. Instead of answering, Emily pulls Lindsey in and kisses her. Emily’s lips are so soft and warm and Lindsey barely gets a chance to kiss back before Emily is pulling away. She takes Lindsey’s face in her hands and bites Lindsey’s lower lip, just once, gently. Lindsey feels it as a jolt down her spine, a throb between her legs, a flip in her stomach.

“Because you made me feel good,” Emily says, “so good. So fucking good. And I couldn’t help myself.”

Lindsey places her hand on Emily’s hip. She slides it along Emily’s thigh, over her shorts, then past them, settling with her hand just behind Emily’s knee, pulling Emily closer to her. 

“Well,” she says, finding it hard to believe that this is who she is, or where she is, “if we can’t help ourselves…”

Kissing Emily is the easiest thing in the world. She does it for as long as she can before she has to take a breath. As soon as she does, Emily is rolling them over, straddling Lindsey, leaning down to kiss her neck. She scrapes her teeth against Lindsey’s throat and Lindsey gasps, her hands finding Emily’s ass, surprising even herself. It feels like they were meant to fit together like this. And despite how often Lindsey fantasized about it, she could not possibly have guessed how good it feels to have Emily grinding on top of her, to have Emily’s tongue in her mouth, Emily’s hand sliding across her stomach.

“I don’t know how much time we have,” Emily murmurs against Lindsey’s jaw, “and I want to make you feel good. The way you made me feel.”

She can tell that it’s a question from the way that Emily hesitates, her eyebrows drawn together, her hand resting under Lindsey’s shirt right above the hem of her shorts. Lindsey takes a deep breath, sliding her hands up to Emily’s lower back.

“Do you want that?” Emily asks anyway, because Lindsey hasn’t found her voice yet.

“Yeah,” Lindsey blurts, and Emily grins.

Emily doesn’t even get her shirt off. Lindsey barely has time to process what’s happening before Emily’s pulling her leggings down, tossing them away somewhere into the room, settling between her legs. She does push Lindsey’s shirt up, just far enough to kiss Lindsey’s stomach. Lindsey realizes suddenly that nobody has ever kissed her there. It never even occurred to her that a man might want to. It never even occurred to her that _she_ might want to kiss someone there, but now she does, she wants to flip them over and kiss every inch of Emily’s skin, to chase the freckles across her chest, to make a trail from the base of her neck down her spine. 

That thought stops right in its tracks when Emily’s lips hit the hem of Lindsey’s underwear. Lindsey realizes then that her hands are on Emily’s shoulders, and she only realizes because Emily looks up at her with her fingers tucked into the sides of Lindsey’s underwear.

Emily doesn’t smirk. Lindsey is expecting it, but Emily looks completely serious in that moment before she drops her eyes and tugs Lindsey’s underwear over her hips. Lindsey lifts her hips to make it easier for Emily to get them out of the way, and then suddenly Emily’s mouth is on her inner thigh. Emily hooks her hands around Lindsey’s thighs and draws Lindsey to her mouth, and even before Emily makes contact Lindsey is overwhelmed, knowing how wet she is, how wet Emily already made her just by being here and wanting her.

Emily going down on her is the hottest thing Lindsey has ever experienced.

It’s something about Emily’s hands, sure and confident, on her hips. Something about Emily not using those hands on her at all, using her lips and her tongue instead, her whole mouth like this is all she’s ever wanted to do. Something about the sound she makes when Lindsey fists a hand into the back of Emily’s t-shirt. Lindsey feels that sound in every inch of her body, starting with her clit and ending in her fingernails. She didn’t know it was possible to be this turned on.

She also didn’t know it was possible for her to come this fast, but it only takes her--well, she’s not sure how long, but she knows that she wishes it had taken longer. She’s usually silent when she comes but this time she’s not, and she has to turn her head to muffle her moan in her own shoulder. It strikes her then that she can count on one hand the number of times she’s moaned like that with someone else and not done it on purpose, for show. This isn’t for show. The way that her legs are shaking, like she’s just run the beep test, isn’t for show. The shocks of pleasure running through every inch of her body are real, and so is Emily, resting her chin against Lindsey’s thigh, stroking Lindsey’s hipbones with her thumbs.

“Fuck,” Lindsey mumbles, and Emily grins, sitting up and back on her heels.

“Yeah?” she says.

“You’re like,” Lindsey closes her eyes, “really fucking--really good at that.”

“Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life,” Emily says, and Lindsey kicks her halfheartedly. Still, she’s laughing, giddy from the orgasm, from everything else.

“Shut up,” Lindsey says, “I hate you.”

But she doesn’t, and they both know it. Emily wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and Lindsey blushes again, closing her legs. It’s hard to believe--all of it. Emily looks like she’s about to say something when her phone buzzes on the nightstand, and she sprawls half on top of Lindsey to reach it.

“I told Sam to text me when she was coming back,” she explains apologetically, and Lindsey turns an even brighter shade of red. She can feel her ears burning when she speaks again.

“Where are my underwear?” she asks, patting the blankets around her. Now it’s Emily’s turn to turn pink. She cranes her neck and points.

“I guess I, uh...tossed ‘em.”

It takes Lindsey a full minute to find her pants where Emily threw them over her shoulder. She’s barely dressed by the time she hears Sam’s keycard in the door, and she just _knows_ that the room must smell like sex. She can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed, somehow, sitting cross-legged on the bed and facing Emily, whose eyes glint with mischief.

“And that’s why,” Emily says, as Sam walks into the room, “I think you’re really, actually, a Slytherin.”

“I resent that,” Lindsey responds immediately.

“You haven’t even read the books,” Emily points out.

“She’s definitely not a Slytherin,” Sam says, as if everything is completely normal, “she cares too much about people, not ideas, she’s a Gryffindor.”

-

Lindsey is nervous.

In the tunnel, Emily reaches for her hand and squeezes it before they get into line, and the nervousness dissipates, just like that.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this does mean that in this universe Emily went down on Lindsey who then went on to score a hat trick. I'm not saying there's science behind it, but there's not NOT science behind it.


End file.
